Harry is Death
by Wana2dmax
Summary: What happens when Harry is bored of being Death?
1. Cloak, Stick, and Stone away from Death

**Author's Note: I would like to start by saying thank you for choosing (or stumbling across) this story out of all the stories in the vast sea known as fanfiction. This is my first time writing a fanfic, so constructive criticism is appreciated. Don't be afraid to tell me what you think!**

**Disclamers: TRIGGER WARNING, this fanfic is rated M for violence and death! Don't read if you don't like! Also I don't own Harry Potter ****(obviously).**

**Chapter 1**

It was so cold, so dark, Harry thought to himself as he floated through the infinite abyss known as space. "I guess I was expecting something more than emptyness and the occasional star" he mumbled, or at least tried to in a vacuum with no air. As he aimlessly groomed nonexistent dirt off the tips of the finger bones in his skeletal hand, he reminisced on old memories of how he ended up floating across the cosmos.

_Flashback..._

_The red spell flew straight and true as an arrow at Voldemort as his eyes widened in surprise and, surprisingly, fear at the still alive Harry Potter. As the spell connected to his form, the elder wand flung through the air as it rocketed away from his hand; Harry, with reflexes gained from many games of quidditch, instinctively snatched the wand from its flight path. _

_Voldemort screamed as his body began to crumble away. With his horcruxes destroyed, the sudden absence of power from the infamous deathly hallow had been too much of a strain on Voldemort's magic, causing both it and Voldemort's magically rebirthed vessel and soul to fade away._

_Harry was oddly reminded of stereotypical vampire deaths in movies watching the process take place in front of his eyes. As he and the rest of the war participants watched the last of Voldemort's ashes scatter into the wind, Harry began to feel a gradual warming in his hand. He looked over to see the__ elder wand still held by his right hand. 'How did that get there?' he pondered, as his shocked brain was incapable of processing much else after defeating his predestined opponent. _

_Cheers and estatic cries broke out in the crowd, Voldemort's evil reign of terror had finally been stopped! "Harry you did it!" exclaimed Ron; however the growing noise was again silenced as Harry let out a bloodcurdling scream. The wand started to glow with a black eldritch power as it started vibrating in Harry's hand. He tried to let go, but it seemed as if the wand was stuck there. The gradual heat intensified exponentially as Harry's attempts to free the wand from his hand grew more drastic. _

_"HARRY!" shouted Hermione. She ran over despite hands trying to pull her back, but was unable to reach him due to the growing black aura of the elder wand, which acted as a barrier around the now kneeling Harry. His screams intensified as he looked over at his burning hand. The flesh and skin were melting off of it! The indescribable pain of being burned alive spread throughout his body as he forcefully experienced every cell and nerve in his body melt slowly off his arms, legs, and torso like melted margarine. _

_The burning continued up his neck and into his brain which caused what was left of his body, mostly bones and bits of charred tissue, to collapse onto the ground, his scream's afternotes still ringing through the air. "HARRY NO!" Hermione screamed as she fell to the floor and retched what was left of her stomach contents onto the dirt of the battlefield. Her mind was in pieces, and her eyes wouldn't focus properly onto the corpse of Harry Potter, her friend. She sobbed as the crowd of onlookers looked on in morbid disgust, horrified at what they saw. _

_"Oh Harry..." Hermione managed to choke out between sobs. She continued to cry as Ron, still covered in grime from the battle, walked over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Mione, he's, he's gone" he said shakily. She looked up at Ron after he spoke and, with tear filled eyes, clasped Ron into a grief filled embrace as she sobbed hard into his shoulder. The crowd's reactions at this point varied from shock, to disgust, to horror, to even glee from the opposing side, but the macabre nature of previous events reflected in everyone's eyes alike. _

_Seeing a break in the flow of events, Bellatrix and the rest of the death eaters attempted to take action against the Hogwarts teachers and students, but were violently stopped by various willing "volunteers" in the crowd, most of whom were over filled with grief and anger over the "Savior's" death and in need of an outlet. Not a pretty picture if you're part of a group that just killed off one of the most idolized people in the wizarding world of Britian. _

_After what seemed like hours, the elder wand's power finally dispersed as the wand liquified and absorbed into the charred skeleton that was once Harry Potter. No one noticed as a small stone suddenly appeared out of thin air and was absorbed in a similar fashion to the wand. No one noticed when Harry's cloak, a hallow in its own right, appeared and draped itself lovingly over Harry's skeletal remains. Perhaps it was the intense emotions of grief and celebration in the crowd that caused them to overlook details such as this; maybe it was magic that caused so many to turn a blind eye as Harry's cloak-covered corpse vanished into thin air. _

_End of Flashback... _

It was... unpleasant to say in the least of what reawakening as a skeleton felt like. Harry was, understandably, freaked out with his new form, but after eons of floating in space, he finally got the message. Who would even fit the description of 'the Master of Death' if not Death himself? The hallows gave him knowledge and power over his new domain, whispering in his mind that they had been predestined to be together with their one true beholder since the beginning of time.

Hell, Harry grew comfortable even just "chilling" in space absorbing all the bonded hallow's knowledge. No Dumbledore, no war, no hyphenated nicknames, and definitely no Dursleys! Harry felt a puesdo smile form near his face at the thought (due to him not owning any facial muscles, no wonder why death is always taken so seriously). He further snuggled into his cloak, wrapping his whitened bones around the soft fabric as it purred in his mind. His hallow infused bones vibrated warmth in response; as if not wanting to be outdone by the cloak's affections. Harry chuckled. The artifacts were sentient in the way powerful magical items are. Harry swore the cloak clung tighter to his body when he thought back on memories of trying to tear it off after first waking up in the "freaked out" stage of undeath. He reassured it with a comforting mind "nudge", and the cloak loosened its grip... somewhat. Cheeky hallow.

Undeath managed to mute many of his emotions as he seemed to feel less and less over the timespan of him floating in space. Maybe it was because of the isolation or lack of external stimuli, but eventually, the only emotion Harry felt came in the form of mental probes he and the hallows sent back and forth to each other. Not to say that he lacked his personality, not even undeath could wring the snark out of a Potter!

As happenings continued to continue ever onwards, the hallows gave more and more of the universe's knowledge and power to Harry until the continuous stream of information caught up to the linear respresentation of "present" time. It had been, Harry's consciousness calculated, 9,999,999,999,999,999 earth years since the beginning of his absorption and consequential awakening. He moved, maneuvering to an upright position to "stand" in space. Harry willed the universe to stop for him, and it was so as he began to pace back and forth on a whirlpool of stars and blackness.

"What should I do now?" He pondered aloud in his stopped universe, questioning no one in particular. On one hand, he was a changed man, skeleton?, Death?, after Voldemort and the hallows, no denying that, but Harry felt lost as to what to do now since he had never had the luxury of doing what he wanted before. He would never have any "deathly" duties as all things would live, die, and be reused if not a little faster due to his influence. And staying in space, while peaceful, got boring after the multitude of years that passed by.

To solve this problem, Harry decided to do what Harry does best when he's bored... Wing It. Slashing in a smooth, downward motion, the tip of his phantom like phalange created a rip in space/time. Death's eyes glowed Adava Kedavra green with happiness as he stepped into the anomaly towards the next great adventure.


	2. The New World

**Author's Note: Thanks for waiting! I've finally decided on what direction I've wanted to take this series. I hope you all will like it. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: Same as last time. **

**Chapter 2 **

The rip he came through was promptly sealed through a light brush of his fingers. Harry's cloak settled around him to conceal his form, successfully hiding his skeletal visage from the new world, not that it was necessary as he would see in a moment. He then took the first look at his new surroundings as he hovered, unseen, in the air.

To put it nicely, it was a wasteland of death and destruction. He was in what resembled a metropolitan city; high buildings devoid of life and light were heavily eroded, suggesting they had been abandoned for some time. The streets, deserted and cracked, were home to viney plants as they pushed their way out of the once smooth concrete. The lack of sound and life reminded him of the empty vacuum he came from just moments ago.

The strangest part of this new reality, Harry mused, were the hordes of living dead that stood like silent sigils in the streets. Some were more put together than others, but most, if not all, had some aura of death or decay about them. He decided he liked it.

At least the planet wasn't covered in bugs like some of the planets his being knew of. Knowledge of those worlds were some of the more disturbing bits he received during his space nap.

"There must be some form of life on this world in some form or another" Harry thought to himself. The universe's (or should he say THIS universe's) whispers agreed with his sentiment, telling him this new world still had pockets of human life still remaining after the apocalypse of the undead meat munchers had started. "Alright!" he exclaimed happily, "let's go somewhere not filled with dead meat bags!"

Gliding down effortlessly like a lethifold from the sky, Harry touched the ground without so much as a whisper in order to not disturb the aptly dubbed 'dead-heads' in his mind, and started walking to the nearest source of human life he could sense. As he walked, his form shifted to something similar to that of what he looked like as a human, if not a little older. The young 20 something's deathly cloak became blue jeans and a black t-shirt, a backpack with some survival 'essentials' inside materializing around his back.

Harry whistled merrily as he walked out of the city of the dead, smiling all the way.


	3. First Contact

**Author's Note: Sorry if the last chapter seemed short, this one will be longer as a result. Some aspects of the Walking Dead Universe may be changed. I'm happy that even a small number of people want to read this story, so this is for you guys. As always, constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1. Also some foul language this chapter, but not much.**

**Chapter 3**

_This takes place after Rick and the group leave Merle behind on the rooftop. _

Merle knew he had gotten himself into some shitty situations before, but he really fucked up this time.

He violently struggled with the cuff around his wrist. It only cut deeper into his skin in response, causing a pain filled hiss to escape him. He was alone. Dammit! Why was it always him who got into these situations! He knew he wasn't the smartest or the nicest fella, but that didn't mean the others could just leave him for dead! He slumped on the hard concrete, if he died up here, Daryl would be alone. Really no one would care if he kicked the bucket 'cept him. Not in this godforsaken world, not before it all went to shit neither.

He was brought out of his bitter thoughts by a sharp rattle on the roof door. He held his breath as the sickeningly sweet scent of decay waffed toward his nose from the door, tightening the panicked knot in his stomach further. The walkers must have been attracted here from the group and him getting supplies. They're still screwing me over and they're not ever here! he thought angrily. The door's hinges creaked dangerously at the building pressure of walker bodies behind it. Dammit! He didn't want to be eaten alive up here! He didn't want to die!

Like a cornered animal, he began to desperately search for a method of escape. Anything! He cursed again, why did Dog have to drop those damned keys! Finding nothing of use spare a rusted hacksaw, desperation set in. Merle looked at the tool, he only saw one way out of his ordeal and it wasn't going to be pretty for him. Sweating gallons, he weighed his options. He could probably reach the saw with his spare arm, but it was too cheap and rusted to saw through the police grade cuff or the thick bar binding him to the rooftop in time. The banging on the door grew louder, and he was running out of options. He shook his head in resignation, he had to do it.

Mind made, he stretched his free hand towards the saw, but his sweaty fingers barely brushed the bottom of the wooden handle. He could hear teeth clacking together sporadically through the door as the cacophony of banging and screams grew louder in his eardrums. Merle made another panicked attempt at reaching the saw, but in his rush, his shaky hand knocked the hacksaw further away from himself. The measly hope of escape Merle had was crushed in seconds as the saw slid from out of his reach; the sound of the saw's rusted edge against the bumpy concrete of the rooftop only further enraging the walkers.

His hope was gone, leaving only unbridled fear in its place. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, because Merle knew he was about to die and couldn't do anything about it. He could only hear the terrifying **clack **of teeth. **clack clack **The thought of walkers tearing him limb from limb **clack**, shredding him alive like some demented brat does to present wrapping on Christmas **clack clack** **clack **was enough to make him vomit on the rooftop.

_I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't want to di—_

Silence.

Instead of pain, he felt warmth on his shoulder.

His ears were ringing as he continued to wheeze in and out. Why was he not dead?

Merle realized he couldn't hear the sounds of clacking teeth anymore.

Slowly, the world came back in to focus. He could hear something else. Someone else. A voice. "It's going to be ok. Can you hear me?" it questioned. Slowly, his shaking diminished as he focused on the warmth, a hand, on his shoulder. Had he been shaking? he never realized.

"Are you ok now sir?" The voice questioned again. It sounded foreign. After a minute, Merle managed to blurt out a response. "Ar— are the walkers gone?"

"I believe so sir". Merle finally looked up to see the owner of the hand, and was met with pitch black hair and too green eyes. They seemed to glow as they scrutinized him, features worryingly pinched together.

He only knew blackness afterward.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

_An hour before _

Harry whistled as he walked along the sidewalk, occasionally stepping over a dessicated corpse and bit of rubble. What a good idea this is! he thought to himself as he merrily passed another walker on the road. He noticed that they held no interest in him even in his fleshy human form. How convenient. He might have to employ some of his acting skills if he came upon any survivors in order to blend in, but only if he managed to run into any in the city. He doubted he even would due to the high density of meat-munchers in the area. There were thousands of them in the streets, and thousands more in the buildings most likely. No wonder people left.

As he walked further into the city, he passed several buildings that were completely demolished, as if they'd been blown to bits, along with a multitude of police cars and even a tank on the battered road. Harry tilt his head in thought, this must be where some of the preliminary fighting went down before the government collapsed. He smiled, if he had access to resources a government had, he would definitely use it for a massive paint ball war. Much less messier than actual wars, more fun too. He shook his head, while he pretty much HAD the resources to do literally anything to this dirt ball he was on, being a cosmic entity and all, doing such would take the fun out of the adventure! Yes he would allow himself to use magic and all the fun bits that came with it, but he would not allow himself to just erase all zombies because he thought it was "too hard". No, he wanted a challenge and challenge was what he was going to set himself up for!

Suddenly, he heard something. A very small noise, but he heard it nonetheless. It was a jangling noise, like keys or metal being clinked around. Stopping to face the noise, Harry grinned, perhaps he would run into survivors after all, and a rescue mission sounded like the perfect thing to warm his muscles up with.

He noticed the moaning and groaning of the munchers as he drew near, making him increase his pace significantly. If someone was up there, he needed to be quick, or else the not-so-living dead would get to them first.

Increasing his pace to an almost inhuman speed, Harry pulled out one of his favorite melee weapons from a dimensional rift not unlike the one he first arrived out of. The damascian metal glinted in the hot, afternoon sun as the first walker's mangled head fell to the ground with a wet **thump**. Harry's form was a blur as he sliced and diced his way to the rooftop of the building where the noise had originated from. The thumps behind him grew in tempo not unlike rain pattering by the time he was done. The walker blood lay thick and dark upon the blade in his hand, dripping off ever so slowly as Harry took several breaths. He flicked his blade, spattering the coagulated blood in a wave on one the walls. Before him stood a door, and he could hear the sound of heavy breathing beyond it.

Opening the door slowly as to not startle the person behind it, Harry's eyes adjusted to the overly bright outside. There was a person, a man, in front of him chained to a pipe on the rooftop. His eyes narrowed in anger, THAT certainly wasn't self inflicted. The man looked as if he had been struggling against his imprisonment, and the bad sunburn on his skin confirmed that he had to have been up here for hours at the least. Harry approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be ok, can you hear me?" he said. The man, seemingly in a state of shock, didn't reply. Harry began to check him for injuries. Multiple lacerations on the handcuffed wrist, major sunburn, shocked state, mutilple smaller cuts and scrapes, and one pile of vomit he concluded.

The man was lucky, if he hadn't been here minutes sooner, the door might've caved in and he would've been a dead man. Harry's brow furrowed, he would take care of this man now and worry about his story later. No one deserved to be left to die up here. It was the gentlemanly thing to do after all. The slower breathing signified that the man was coming out of his state of shock; Harry repeated his inquiry gently, "Are you ok now sir?". The man, after several minutes, finally spoke, "Ar— are the walkers gone?"

"I believe so sir" Harry replied. The man looked up at Harry, registered his face for the first time, and promptly passed out. He caught the poor man before his head could land in the pool of vomit below.

"Well I've got some work to do then don't I?"


	4. Breakfast?

**Author's Note: Three viewers becomes 40 overnight! What a lovely feeling it is to have people following a story you tell. I appreciate and treasure every single one of you for reading. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1, some swearing included in this chapter. **

**Chapter 4 **

Merle woke up to the smell of frying bacon and lavender scented sheets. He rubbed his eyes, attempting to wake himself up more, but suddenly stopped. "What the hell?" he intoned. Why was he in a bed rubbing his eyes like some sleeping beauty with a fucking zombie apocalypse going on?! He shot up out of the bed, searching the perimeter for some kind of weapon he could use. The bedroom was quaint in design, walls painted beige he noticed, as his eyes flitted left and right of the blue themed floral bedspread. A small, light blue dresser occupied one corner of the room with a window facing the other side, the queen sized bed in between the two.

Seeing nothing of use, Merle was about to head out the door to explore the rest of the perimeter when a slight knock permeated from the other side. Startled, Merle jumped before regaining his cool.

"I thought I'd knock since I heard you up and about from the kitchen, scrambled or runny?"

"Who's there and what the hell—"

"SCRAMbled or runny?" The voice, more forceful in nature, questioned again.

More than thrown off his game, Merle temporarily forgot about opening the door and replied "uhh, scrambled" before regaining enough sense to try to figure out what the hell was going on.

But before he could get his two cents in, he heard the mysterious baritone once again. "Meet me downstairs for breakfast once you're dressed."

Confused as to what the man behind the door was talking about, he looked down and noticed he was stark naked save for a pair of boxers that definitely WEREN'T the ones he remembered wearing. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment as he checked the dresser to find his clothes neatly flooded inside. They smelled like lavender too which further added to the 'what the fuck is going on' mentality in Merle's head. Who in their right mind would wash clothing in the middle of a walker infested city?!

He stomped downstairs, noticing that most of the building was empty and derelict save for the room he came out of. Entering the kitchen, he noticed the man who had saved his life from before cooking breakfast! In an apron! Humming Oh Susanna! Just cooking breakfast like the world hadn't gone to shit and this was just another regular old Sunday for him!

This scene, coupled with the other weird abnormalities he noticed on his way down, well this was to much for ol' Merle, causing him to angrily demand answers from the man cooking mother fucking bacon on a stovetop in a pink apron.

"Who the hell are you, why are you cooking bacon, and why the fuck aren't the walkers biting our asses off right now?!?"

The man turned, and Merle was once again taken aback by his eyes. They seemed to glow with mirth as the man slowly put up his hands, one clutching a metal spatula. "Easy there friend, I'll explain everything, but shouldn't we start with introductions first?" The man put his hand out. "Doctor Hadrian Potter, pleased to meet you".

Merle's eyebrow quirked upward at the title and the offered hand, which he ignored. "Merle Dixon, now tell me what the fuck is going on here".

"Alright alright" the man placated. He smiled, gesturing to a wooden table in the kitchen, "We're safe from the meat-munchers at the moment, so why don't we talk and eat?"

Merle's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. "Fine" he said, cautiously sitting down in one of the chairs. The padded seat was surprisingly comfortable.

Within minutes, the doctor set a coffee mug and a plate of scrambled eggs with bacon down in front of him. His stomach rumbled again, and Merle greedily dug in at the sight of hot food, deciding to set aside his questions until breakfast was finished. Fresh food was hard to come by, and Merle wasn't going to waste an ounce of it.

Someways into the meal, Merle noticed that the doctor hadn't touched his plate of eggs and bacon. "Are you going to eat that?" he questioned with a mouthful of food in his mouth. Potter shook his head no, signaling that Merle could have it with a smile. He grabbed the man's plate and inhaled the food with gusto after he finished his own serving.

He was still shoving the delicious food into his mouth when the doctor spoke again.

"Feeling better? You were in pretty bad shape when I found you".

"Who are you and what—*chew—are you doin' in a city full of walkers?" Merle managed to get out between bites of bacon and egg.

The man, still clothed in his pink apron, leaned back in his chair and responded, "To answer your first question, I already told you, and to answer your second, I was just passing through Atlanta when I heard yelling from a rooftop."

He paused to take a sip of tea, setting the China cup down on a matching green saucer. Did he find that in the house? Merle wondered. "I went to investigate, found you frying in the sun, so I treated you, and, well, here we are" he gestured at the table.

At the mention of injuries, Merle looked down at his previously handcuffed wrist and noticed a bandage wrapped around it. He didn't even notice the injury since it didn't hurt at all. His skin was sunburnt too. He shook his head once more, he needed to pay attention! Maybe those drugs fucked him up more than he realized...

He was brought out of his thoughts by the end of the doctor's speech. "Well why didn't you just leave me up there to die if you don't even know me". He shivered, "How'd ya even get up there in the first place what with all them walkers?"

"Simple, I used the ingenious tactics of diversion and stealth to distract most of the munchers away from the door, and 'took care' of the rest if you know what I mean". Potter airquoted with his hands when saying 'took care', and chuckled at his half-baked joke. Merle wasn't as enthused, giving the doctor a flat look. "What?" he said, noticing Merle's face, "At least I thought it was funny". He crossed his arms in mock indignation, but cracked a face splitting smile at Merle which made his own lips quirk up a bit too. Damn, this guy was a little too charismatic for his taste. Merle quickly scowled to cover up his unintentional half smile.

"Well how'd you manage to kill the rest of the walkers you couldn't draw out without them noticin' ya?" he interrogated.

"With this". The doctor walked over and pulled out a 2 foot long, curved blade from behind one of the wooden cabinets in the kitchen. It was sheathed in a scabbard at the moment, but the weapon made Merle's eyes widen nonetheless. "Got it when I was traveling in japan, I used to collect weapons as a hobby, guess it came in handy for today's times right?" He set the blade down next to a backpack at the corner of the room, and once again sat down in the chair opposite to him. "I've trained with that thing for years, so I'd like to think that I'm quite good at wielding it by now".

He took another sip of his tea and continued, "As for this place, I found it and used it as a temporary hideout while I salvaged some things from the local clinics in town. Cleared the place of your so called walkers first, so it's realitively safe before you ask. Can't be low on medical supplies as a medical practitioner now can we?". Merle nodded, his story made sense, but even if Potter went out of his way to save his sorry ass, he still didn't trust him. He made to ask about how the doctor had found fresh eggs and bacon in the store, but Potter silenced his retort with a finger held up to his mouth, much to Merle's chagrin. "Now, now" he said, "I can't be giving away all my secrets now can I?".

He stood up abruptly, rubbing his hands together. "Right then! Now that we've been fed and watered, we should find out where your group has run off to huh?"

Merle, who was not used to the excitable nature of the man in front of him, shrugged. "Normally I wouldn't go back to those bastards after what they did to me up on the rooftop, but Daryl's there". Merle paused in confusion, "Are you comin with? You've already done a lot most people wouldn't dream of doin' for me".

The doctor winked at him, "It wouldn't be very gentlemanly if I just abandoned one of my patients mid recovery now would it?" he said jovially.

"Bullshit" Merle accused, slamming his hands on the table, the silverware rattling in response. "What's yer real reason? What's in it for you?"

The doctor merely raised an eyebrow at his small outburst. "That is one of my reasons for accompanying you, but I do admit, I've been looking for companionship in this crazy world". He sighed, "I've been a party of one for some time now, and I've come to long for the joys of a group so to speak".

The small coffee table shook as Merle laughed, "Well, you won't find many decent folk in the group Daryl and I were in!" he wiped a tear from his eye at this guy. Either he was really dumb, looking to loaf around in the security of a pack, or was completely insane. "Everyone there treated me and him like shit even though we're the ones doin' all the huntin' and cookin' in that shithole!" "What a joke!"

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, but the steely look in his emerald eyes shook Merle out of his laughing fit. "I do plan on hauling my own weight if that's what you were thinking" he began in a cold, rumbling baritone. "But I'd rather try at least than be alone" he finished, the tension from before instantly vanishing with his airy tone.

Merle blinked at the sudden mood shift. This guy threw him off his game more than the shit sheriff did! At least he knew what to expect with him and the rest of the group. He looked at Potter in further shock as the doctor extended his hand out to him across the table. "Want to be pals?" he said, head cocked to the side and a goofy grin on his face.

Merle sneered, this guy was too friendly for his taste. It rubbed him the wrong way. "I'm not yer friend limey, but you're welcome to join if ya want to". He ignored the hand and stood up. The doctor only smiled in response to his harsh retort, "glad to then" he said.

"I've got supplies and some weapons if you're looking for some basic gear" the doctor pulled out a secondary backpack from another cupboard and handed it to Merle. He peered in. It contained canned food, water, a compact blanket, a six inch blade, and a .22 caliber pistol with several packs of ammunition inside. The bag was relatively big, and was only halfway filled.

"It's not much, but it'll serve our purposes if you wanted to gather some more things for your group on the way" Potter said.

He looked at the sun outside from one of the windows. "It's about midday, can you navigate from here? Or should I lead us to somewhere more familiar?" he questioned, still peering out of the kitchen window.

"I'll lead, we'll be able to get back to the quarry in about two hours from here, so we can scavenge on the way like you said" Merle's replies as he joined the doctor at the window.

Hadrian picked up his black backpack and strapped the katana to his hip. He joined Merle, who was waiting for him by the door of the house, gun now holstered on his hip.

"Ready to go then limey?" Merle said. The doctor smiled again. "Of course! Why wouldn't I be?".

"Let's go then"

The wooden door shut behind them with a solemn squeak as the pair set off. Merle never noticed the bedroom and kitchen returning to the same, derelict state as the rest of the house after he shut the door.


	5. Tequila

**Author's Note: A small note about the name of the last chapter. It was supposed to be called "Breakfast in Bed?", but the site wouldn't let me type out the full name for some odd reason. Oh well. Thank you for your interest in this series and your comments, they really help me stay motivated and I love seeing them. As usual, constructive criticism is appreciated and welcomed.**

**Disclaimer: Same as chapter 4, some mention of drug abuse. **

**Chapter 5 **

Harry sighed as he listened to the sound of his and Merle's footsteps patter across the cracked pavement. The air smelled coppery, almost sweet, despite the humid Alabama climate. If he tried, he could even smell the scent of walkers in the distance to the south, further into the city they had left behind them. They smelled like fruit, or meat gone bad, probably because they WERE just meat that had gone bad. Except the meat had decided to get up and start eating the living. Like giant, rotten hamburgers. Harry snickered at the thought.

**Thump thump** the footsteps went. In tandem to each other, sometimes separate, and sometimes in sync. Is that how people were? Sometimes two met briefly, sometimes they passed each other by, and sometimes, on a rare occasion, they connected for life? In that case, which footsteps were Merle and he? Ginny? Everyone else he knew before? Were all of them just instances, chance connections in a randomized pattern? It dawned on him that he would never see them alive again. Hermione, Ron, even Hagrid and the others; they had already lived out their lives. Without him. He supposed the metaphor didn't apply to him, as he couldn't count himself as one of a "people" anymore, he thought morosely. An outlier with no other purpose besides his own.

Merle coughed abruptly, snapping him out of his sondersome thoughts. Looking over to see if he needed anything, Harry's mind wandered. This place, this person he was with, what was he here for? What was his purpose here? Merle suddenly coughed again, and Harry turned to face him, a look of concern forming on his face. "Are you ok? That cough doesn't sound good".

Merle coughed, more forcefully this time. Covering his mouth, he said between coughs "It's nothing *cough *cough Potter. I'm *cough fine." His hand came away, and Harry's eyes widened when he saw the dark red phlegm smeared across it.

"That does NOT look ok, here, let me help you". He reached out a hand, but Merle swatted it away clumsily, smearing dark red onto the offending appendage. Swaying, Merle's fit escalated drastically as he bent over in an attempt to regain his breath. Harry led him over to the worn sidewalk near the end of the road. It must have been minutes now since Merle started coughing. Internally, Harry panicked. What could have caused this? Merle showed no sign of stopping, and one particularly forceful hack spattered more blood onto the worn out pavement.

Merle's body went slack, forcing Harry to catch his head before it hit the sidewalk edge. "No no no, stay with me buddy!" Harry exclaimed. Laying Merle's head down carefully, Harry utilized his magic to diagnose the man's condition. The knowledge entered his mind with the spell and Harry cursed. Of course Merle had been messing with drugs. Dialated pupils, paranoia, lung problems, they were all signs of long term drug abuse. He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Stupid! Stupid! Why didn't you bother to check him with a spell before? The hallows gently reminded him that he HAD checked Merle over, and that "normal" emergency procedure wouldn't be geared toward noticing long term abuses, especially when in dangerous situations like this one.

Harry gently set Merle's head down on the pavement as he prepared to treat the unconscious man with magic. This was no time to play around with human methods. His eyes filled with power, turning them an inhuman shade of green. His hands touched the wheezing man's chest, and a pulse of green shot into it. Merle's breathing hitched, then evened out, and the look of pain that was plastered on his face softened. Harry sighed, eyes returning to their human state. That was a close one, he thought. If Merle had died then he would have... what would he have done? Harry didn't know. His face hardened dangerously as he conjured a bed for Merle to rest on. All he knew right now was that he didn't want to be alone, and if anyone or anything tried to take his company, his patient, away...

**They would be sorry.**

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

For the second time today, Merle woke up in a stranger's bed. He groaned, sitting up took more effort than he thought it would, leaving him slightly lightheaded. He remembered coughing... What happened? Where was Potter? He attempted to stand, noticing the pack Potter gave him on the floor near his bed after scrounging around in the dark a bit. Must be night outside. Slipping the straps over his broadened shoulders, he went to go look for Potter.

Merle found him right outside the house he woke up in. The doctor was tending to a small, yet sturdy, campfire with a stick, stoking the flames. The flames burned brighter with the attention. He noticed the fire held a stand, which was cooking a can of beans. Harry turned to look at him, his eyes seemingly glowing in the darkness around the fire. The wind tossled his pitch black hair fondly, making him look even more ethereal. The creature smiled genially, and Merle reminded himself that this was Potter he was looking at. Not some fairy tale creature like Daryl's chewpacabra.

"Come, sit down. I made baked beans." As if on cue, Merle's stomach growled incessantly. He sat down, putting the backpack to one side, in the chair opposite to the doctors, and stared into the fire.

The men paused to enjoy the silence. "What happened on the road today?" Merle finally asked. His question seemed ten times as loud in the dead night around them. "You started coughing up blood. Had to carry you over to that house to treat you when you passed out". The doctors eyes flickered up towards his own, and Merle was taken aback by the sadness he saw in them. "Answer me honestly. Were you taking hard drugs of any kind?". Merle scowled, and attempted to mumble something akin to "I need somethin' to take the edge off sometimes..", but the entirety of his retort was lost on his lips when he looked into those old, mourning eyes.

They went back to staring at the fire. Merle's eyes, in avoiding Harrys, glanced toward the night sky. He was surprised to find that it was beautiful. Stars, brighter than he had ever seen, were speckled across an inky black canvas, with the pale moon and cosmos serving as centerpieces to the elaborate portrait. At least the apocalypse did something right. Merle would've never seen this many stars this close to the city without it.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Harry voice echoed as his head turned toward the sky. "Yeah" he returned.

Despite the circumstances, Merle smiled at the sight.


	6. Bad Will Hunting

**Author's Note: I'm back! Had some issues with my account, but I've finally regained my password so I can start writing again. To clear up some questions about pairings, no. This story will not be slash. With Harry. at all. I am fairly new at writing, so constructive and meaningful criticism is appreciated. Thank you for reading. **

**Disclaimer: See chapter 1. **

**Chapter 6**

Small tendrils of sunlight reached towards the small encampment, signifying the break of dawn. Harry's eyes opened, and he stretched in preparation for the trek ahead. Sleep was unnecessary for him, but he enjoyed its refreshing properties nonetheless. His senses extended towards the faint blips of human life they'd been tracking, and he was surprised to find the number of blips had been dramatically reduced overnight. What had happened? Did they get attacked by walkers? Straightening, he saw the humans were moving farther away. Damn, that meant more risk for him and his companion.

Harry's attentions turned towards the surrounding walkers. His influence had kept them at bay, and, thankfully, their numbers were gradually thinning out the further they moved from Atlanta. They wouldn't be a bother to them along the route Merle had planned out towards the quarry.

Nodding to himself, the 'doctor' started packing up the camp in preparation for the journey. Putting away spoons, knives, and various supplies, Harry heard the rustle and consequential groan of Merle rising.

"How are you feeling?" Harry inquired.

"Much better, Whatever you did definitely helped."

A silence fell over the two as they began packing up the camp. There wasn't much there to pack up, mostly two bedrolls and some stray embers to stomp out of the firepit, but the task provided something to do in lew of making "small talk", something Merle was, evidently, not good at. His upbringing, memories of being beaten by his Pa, were a constant reminder to stay quiet unless necessary. Furthermore, the doctor was still a mystery to him, and, while he seemed friendly enough, Merle still didn't fully trust him. The man was just too... perceptive for his own good.

They finished packing and set out on the trail to the camp. After encountering no signs of life nor walker for miles, both Merle and Hadrian were on high alert as they approached the quarry the group had set up camp in previously. The late afternoon sun glinted against Merle's borrowed gun, which sat securely in his hands as he stalked closer to the clearing the group had made camp in. Trailers sat abandoned and bloodied as he noticed the sight and smell of dead bodies. Walker corpses littered the surrounding area, with several fresh mounds of dirt marking recently dug graves. The camp looked liked it had been hastily abandoned, Merle concluded, as the campers were still full of supplies. Harry wrinkled his nose in displeasure at the smell. "Looks like this was fairly recent" he said, pointing to the graves.

"Yer right" Merle replied. "Come on, I see tracks here, let's push on." Harry smiled, and bowed pompously in agreement, "As you wish mi'lord" he stated in a joking manner. Merle snickered, but otherwise showed no signs of outward amusement at the doctor's antics.

The party pressed on, and eventually fell into a pattern of sorts. Harry would watch the surroundings for incoming walkers while Merle followed the muddied vehicle tracks. At night, the pair would consistently change watch until daybreak, at which point they would scavenge for any supplies in the immediate vicinity and press on. In trying to keep Merle as safe as possible while maintaining his cover, Harry would use his powers more conservatively in order to repel walkers or track the life force of the humans up ahead. However, not all of Harry's magic could be easily concealed, especially when trying to preform it right underneath a muggle's nose (As he would soon find out.)

The forest of trees slowly cleared as they reached the side of a freeway. In the distance, cars and trucks of varying shapes and sizes lay abandoned along the road. Dark silhouettes dotted the freeway, roaming aimlessly among the wreckage of civilization. Harry looked to Merle, who tsked in frustration.

"The tracks run cold here, what's the plan now?"

Merle shot an irritated glance. "Shut up Limey, tryin' to concentrate"

Harry mock scoffed in response, un-phased by Merle's harsh words. The blond's weathered face studied every inch of the faded track, looking for any sign, any small clue as to where the group where headed. He'd probably be there for hours, Harry guessed, if he didn't do anything about it. One little spell couldn't hurt right?

Reaching towards his magic, which was akin to gently prodding a metaphysical blob, Harry smiled and cast a spell designed to reveal the previous path taken by the spell's subject (in this case the group) regardless of when the trail was initially made. The Hallows hummed in approval as Harry's eyes glowed a deathly green. It would be perfect. He would have more company, and everything would be right.

However, what Harry did NOT account for was his enthusiasm about finding the group to affect his spell. Magic is a fickle thing, easily influenced by emotions if one wasn't careful. In normal wizards, this was rectified through a set conduit and phrases that had a predetermined, practiced intent in mind. Harry was not normal. So while Harry had meant to only REVEAL the path to Merle, which would then aid them in finding the group, he did not expect what happened next.

"Hey Doctor"

"Yes?"

"Mind tellin' me why the fucking ROAD IS GLOWING?!"


End file.
